


Entwined by this Thread.

by YohKoBennington



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YohKoBennington/pseuds/YohKoBennington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At that moment they weren't just brothers anymore. And they finally understood what being bonded meant." Sam/Dean. AR-Powers. Bonded/soulmates boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entwined by this Thread.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for smalltrolven at the [spn-j2-xmas](http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/) exchange.

 

 

[ ](http://s803.beta.photobucket.com/user/YB87/media/Fics%20art/33_platessoulmatesfabrica-1_zps28c2b02c.jpg.html)

 

 

The bar they choose to take a break from driving is in the middle of nowhere. Only grass and trees surrounding the wood cabin that houses the small business, and the long road that can take you out to the interstate after an hour of driving. It's kind of perfect. Except for the motorcycles lining up the front parking tale telling the promise of some trouble with just them breathing the same air as the frequent customers.

Dean parks the Impala behind the building, right by the corner, where the street lamp light barely reaches the sleek black paint of the car. The asphalt glistens from the water puddling after a day of rain as they walk towards the entrance. The door jingles when Dean pushes it open and immediately their noses are struck by the smell of cigarettes, sweat, buzz, and leather. Some of the customers look their way...some curiously, some sizing them up, and the rest continue with whatever they are doing uninterested. Sam points the bar with a slight jerk of his head, and Dean nods before walking toward the farther, private table booth. A few minutes pass before Sam comes back with their food. They eat quietly, observing the people around them.

“You wanna play some?” Dean asks pointing the now empty pool table after they are done eating and on their second beer.

Sam quirks a smile before nodding softly. The bar has gotten crowded since they arrival, and getting to the pool table seems like swimming against a strong flow. Dean keeps his hand fisted around Sam's wrist as they go, sharing a connection between them while their skins prickle with the fight between the other people's charged energies and their own.

Setting up the table takes a few seconds, and soon they are lost in the game, the people in the bar fading away as only each other's presence becomes the most important thing. Sam bends over to make his next move, seductively perking up his ass for Dean to see, and he knows Dean is watching him; he can sense it on his bones. He hits the hole straight on, and sends a wicked grin towards Dean, who narrows his eyes, before playing again. He misses his target when Dean takes a pull of his beer, making a show of his lips sucking greedily the mouth of the bottle. Now is Dean's turn to grin triumphantly.

They keep teasing as the game progresses and then they start a new one. Sam feels at peace for those few minutes. Not thoughts of what they are dealing with, what they are, and what their fates will be tomorrow. And when they would normally play pool to hustle some money, today they don't need to. It is nice to have these little moments where they can breathe and remember they are humans.

Dean glances at the clock on the wall behind the bar; they've been there for an hour already. Sam puts his cue back on the rack hanging on the wall, and grabs Dean's when he passes his own.

“Thanks,” Sam murmurs with a small smile.

“Wish we could stay longer,” Dean admits, a bit of sadness in his voice.

But they can't. It's too dangerous.

“I know. Me too,” Sam agrees, turning his body to completely face Dean. The glowing light of the ceiling lamp casts shadows over his eyelashes every time he blinks. His freckles look darker than normal, and he seems younger of what he is, and what Dean feels like. There is no tense lines on his face, even thought the reason they need to leave is hanging over their heads. He seems content, and Sam needs to kiss him. He's aware of how close they are standing, and how that could bring unwanted attention, but he can't really give a fuck. When you deal with Heaven and Hell in a daily basis and the possibility of each day being your last, a pair of homophobic thugs fades in comparison. His skin tingles with Dean's proximity, and when his brother puts his hand over his hip, Sam can't help the soft gasp that comes out. It's amazing how such a little touch can undo him, and how he can't go for long without feeling Dean physically there before he starts aching with his absence. The best part is that the feeling is mutual, and Sam can be so sure of it because they are connected on such a high level that sometimes he believes he can read what Dean is thinking and viceversa.

“We gotta leave Sammy,” Dean warns, voice rough.

They really do. But damn him if they end their little vacation without him kissing Dean right here.

Sam loves how Dean melts when their lips meet, soft moan dying in Sam's mouth. It's nothing short of a sensorial explosion. The world mutes, and all it's left is the feeling of Dean's tongue tangling with his. The heat of his body seeping through his shirt and attracting his own like a magnet. And the electrifying charges that while invisible they can both feel run deep, leaving goosebumps all over their skins.

Moments like this is why fighting is worth it. Running from place to place. Their family and friends deaths, leaving them without any ally to help them win this war. The death sentence over their heads. And the fear that they could lose each other and what that will do to the last Winchester standing. All the sleepless nights, and stress. Every moment of sadness is worth bearing if they can have this. And nothing will ever be stronger enough to take it away. Not God. Not the Devil.

And surely not the bigoted asshole that's calling them names at the moment.

The bubble breaks, and leaves them feeling as if they just woke up from a deep dream. It takes a minute to clear their minds to understand what broke the spell.

“Hey! I'm talking to you faggots!” The drunk man yells, walking unsteady towards the table. “Get your faggot asses out of this place. Nobody needs to see your shit.”

It's easy for Sam to lose his temper, especially over stupid douchebags daring to interrupt their moment of solace. It's so much easier for him to picture the man stopping on his tracks, eyes going comically open, and hands clutching at his throat desperately while all the alcohol he consumed starts gushing of his mouth and shocking him. Like sweet justice, drowning on his owns words.

“Sam,”

There is a calming touch over his chest, and he looks over at Dean.

“Not worth a penny, man,” Dean sighs, dejected. “Let him go.”

Sam would like nothing but to keep going. Dean's right thought, the scumbag doesn't even deserve to die. The mans flaps on the floor, coughing violently as soon Sam lets him go. Everybody in the bar is quiet and staring bug eyed.

Dean pats him over the chest. “Let's go,” he suggests with a tight smile. Sam gives the man, now being attended by some of the bikers, a last look before following Dean.

They make it to the door before the hear the cocking of a gun. When they turn, it's to be faced with the bar owner pointing at them with a rifle from behind the bar.

Dean grabs Sam and pushes him behind him slightly; enough that if the man shoots it won't hit him. Sam tenses but doesn't move.

“What the hell are you?” He commands choleric.

“Do you really want to find out?” Dean asks tersely. He could disarm the guy without moving a muscle, but he's focusing on keeping Sam calm, and hiding their presence from angelic radars. “How about you put that down before you hurt yourself,”

“The hell I will!” He yells, pointing steadily towards Dean.

Sam growls. He's already peppery from that drunken guy, taking this guy down will be his pleasure if he doesn't stop threatening Dean with that gun.

“No, it's okay.” Dean warns, stopping him with another soothing touch over where his hand still holds Sam's wrist, right above the pulse point where Sam's heart is beating fast. Sam can't help but calm down, the ire being tamed by Dean's own powers. “Listen dude, we don't want anymore trouble. So you either put your rifle down, or we leave you like that guy,” he points at the drunk unconscious on the floor.

The bar owner shifts his gaze between the drunk and the brothers. The seconds pass tensely, but the guy lowers his gun slowly. “Get the fuck out of my bar.”

“Gladly,” Sam snorts derisively, and drags Dean out of the door before the bar owner has second thoughts.

They get on the car, and Dean guns it toward the empty road and as far away from the place. They've spent too much time in there, and it's pure luck that the place wasn't swimming with angels, or demons by the time they leave. Especially after using their powers.

Dean sends shortsighted glances toward the passenger seat, sensing Sam's restlessness “You okay?”

“I'm fine.” Sam answers tightly. It's a waste of time to lie, but he's not on a sharing mood right now. He's so charged up with adrenaline, his skin is tight and blood running hot, that if a demon decided to cross their path right now it wouldn't have time to regret it.

Dean nods, turning the radio on before facing the road ahead again. He sings along the songs softly and Sam relaxes a little more the fader they get from the bar. They drive all through the night without a specific destiny. Long enough for their traces to disappear, and the protection tattoos on their skin to work.

These days all that matters is to stay out of the angels and demons' radars.

~*~

They are ambushed at a gas station of all places. It's plain daylight and busy with customers. The worst part is that there isn't just angels this time, there is demons too, and they are working together.

The civilians run to safety, as the attack progresses, damaging windows and setting gas pumps on fire. Both take down their fare share of demons and angels, but they seem to never end. They watch each other's backs, working together like limbs from the same body. Where Sam starts, Dean ends. They are an unstoppable team, and that's the reason they are still alive to this day. Sam kills a demon attacking Dean from behind with a raise of his hand. As Dean disarms an angel off his blade and stabs him on the chest. When the light of the dying grace of the angel disappears, all it's left to their feet are a sea of bodies. But they won. There is no more demons or angels standing.

Sam sends an proud smile towards Dean, who returns it after dropping the angel blade on the floor. It takes a second to realize they are not alone, but it's too late. Sam is flying in the air and crashing through the only still standing store window before either can realize the attack.

“Sam!” Dean yells, ready to go to his brother rescue. But he's stopped short when two angels appear behind him. In a swift move, they grab his right arm and press something burning hot on his skin.

Sam is shaking the glasses as he starts scrambling to his feet, when agonizing pain surges through his chest taking his breath away. That's when he hears the rough pained scream outside. He clutches his shirt, gasping, and tries to stand up on shaky legs. _Deandeandeandean_. It's a chant on his brain, as he fights to stay up and walk as fast as he can to get to him. The world is tilting around the edges and the pain gets stronger by minutes, but he doesn't stop until his is out of the store.

Dean is lying in the floor, panting loudly, back arching and feet kicking weakly like he's trying to run from the pain. Sam's eyesight swims, and he grabs the ragged ages of the broken window to stop himself from falling. The pain in his hands allows him to concentrate on getting to Dean and not the drowning agony on his chest. He staggers toward his brother, falling on his knees when he gets to him. Dean is barely moving anymore. His eyes are closed and his breathing is shallow. He's too goddamn pale.

Sam grabs his head, trying to ignore how cold his skin feels, as his fingers search to feel his pulse. The veins of Dean's neck are raised and colored black. It's like ink moving under his brother's skin, and Sam watches helpless as it keeps expanding.

“Dean,” he shakes his brother's limp body, begging him to wake up. Sam grunts when they pain on his chest grows. Dean is slipping through his fingers, and if he doesn't help him now, he will die. “What did they do to you?” Sam ponders out loud and desperate; he wishes Dean could answer him.

He has to find the origin of the black- whatever it is- spreading inside Dean. He pulls the collar of Dean's shirt and finds more black on part of his chest. But it seems to be more prominent on his right side. Quickly he gets Dean of his jacket and over shirt on that side. It's hard to miss the point where it all begins. Dean's arm is almost covered in all black. It's only been a few minutes since the attack but- what Sam now believes must be some type of poison- is expanding fast. He scans the expense of the arm and finds what's causing it right below the elbow joint. There is a symbol burned on Dean's skin. He's never seem it before but he's sure it's Enochian. Sam studies the characters inside the circle, he doesn't know what it means, only that it's killing his brother and he has to stop it.

Sam chances a look toward Dean's face; the black has started to move over his jaw and lower cheek. He doesn't have anymore time. Desperation takes hold of him, as he fights the dizziness. He's getting weaker, and soon he won't be able to do anything to help Dean.

“Dammit,” Sam chokes. This is it. They finally did it. The angels won. They will let the demons rise Lucifer from Hell and start the apocalypse. The worlds is going to go to shit and they were too weak to avoid it.

The black poison keeps moving, and Sam's own life starts to fade. “I'm sorry Dean,” he dry sobs, letting his head fall over Dean's chest. He's so tired, and can't muster energy to move anymore. The only consolation is that they are dying together, and that they can finally rest. Wherever they are going next, they will be together, and if they are not Sam is sure they will find each other no matter what. He closes his eyes, ready to let go. No one can't break the circle their souls are entwined with.

Circle. The symbol is a circle. Jolting with the last of his energy, Sam pushes his body up, panting and shakily he drags himself over Dean's legs and digs his hand inside his right boot. Then grabs the small dagger hiding there, and crawls back up, his head swaying with the effort. It might not work. He might be grasping for scraps; a desperate attend to avoid their fatal ending. But he has nothing to lose.

Sam grabs Dean's marked arm, and blinks trying to focus. His hand is shaking too much, and his eye sight keeps graying around the edges. He takes a deep breath, and digs the knife in Dean's skin. His brother jerks, pulling away. Sam tightens his hold, now more sure than never that this is what will save them. He drags the knife across the mark, grunting as Dean fights him in his unconsciousness.

The relieve is almost instant when the circle is completely broken. Dean inhales deeply, body arching up with the movement. Sam exhales as the tightness in his chest loosens up. The black starts to reside, getting sucked back into the broken symbol, before it vanishes from Dean's skin.

Sam can't believe that worked, but he isn't looking a gift horse in the mouth. The angels could be back any minute if they are watching. He pulls Dean on a seating position, then passes his arms under his knees. His own knees still feel weak and shaky as he carries his unconscious brother towards the car. He sits Dean on the passenger seat, and runs as fast his body will let him to the driver's seat. He can hear the sirens in the distance, as he drives off the gas station and doesn't looks back.

~*~

Sam remembers being six years old, sick with a cold and bored. Confined to a motel room in the middle of a winter storm until their dad was due to come back from his job. He remembers his excitement when Dean made the feathers of his pillow float and dance in the air to entertain him. He thought of his big brother was a super hero, and he wanted to tell Dad, but Dean made him promise to never talk about it. He didn't get why Dean wouldn't want to share how awesome he was with their Dad, but he kept his promise anyways because if Dean was happy, he felt happy too.

It became their shared little secret.

But when Sam finally found out about what their father actually did for living, he understood Dean's apprehension. And he found himself on his brother's shoes, when a year later he started having nightmares that became true. He was scared and confused, but Dean was always there to soothe away the gory images that no ten year-old should see. They never said a word to their dad about their mystery powers. Until one day it was hard to stay quiet when one of those nightmare had their father as protagonist. John barely made it alive thanks to his son's intervention, and the secret was out.

He remembers Dad being bewildered and worried, not knowing what to do with the new information. He took them to a psychic for answers. Missouri made some sort of spell on the boys, that told her everything she needed to know. How Dean's powers came from a place of light, but Sam's came from a darker one. But that they complemented each other and kept the balance. It was the first time Sam heard the words _bonded souls_.

But he didn't get the grasp of what that meant for him and Dean until he turned eighteen and left the hunting life to try being normal at Stanford. Leaving an angry father and a desolate brother behind. He did begged Dean to go with him, but his brother was relentless to leave their father alone. As much as it hurt him to leave Dean, Sam wouldn't change his mind. He was tired of feeling sick to his stomach every time Dean went on a hunt with their dad. Of not being able to sleep until he was sure Dean was save and sound sleeping in the other bed. He needed a break.

Moving to Standford didn't change anything. It made it worse. Sam couldn't concentrate on his classes, could barely eat and sleep. There was a continuous ache in his chest that he couldn't get rid of and as days passed, it got stronger.

Until one stormy night, Dean was suddenly on his door step. He looked as bad as Sam, and he was overwhelmed with the need to touch him, and feel him skin to skin. They didn't say a word as they stumbled into the master bedroom, kissing the air out of each other's lungs. The ache didn't disappear until they were sweaty, panting, and sated. The room smelling of just them and was charged with a strange energy that made the hair of their skin raise.

At that moment they weren't just brothers anymore. And they finally understood what being bonded meant.

Sam packed his shit the next morning, and went back to hunting with Dean. Stanford had no meaning for him anymore. His freedom was wherever Dean was.

The following months their bond grew stronger. As they hunted, and then searched for their suddenly missing father, they kept exploring their relationship and their powers. How if one got hurt, the other could feel the injury as if it was on his own body. How they didn't need to speak to have a full conversation. Or how they could know where the other was all the time even when they weren't in the same place or knew where the other went.

When Azazel, the demon who killed their mother, showed up possessing their father's lifeless body, and he almost kills Dean, Sam discovers he can kill demons.

Angels show up in the picture a year later, saying they are both the vessels of Michael and Lucifer and they are destined to fight. That they are corrupting what is had been written by changing it. But they refuse to follow into line and be used as puppets.

All hell breaks loose then. The angels have plans for them and they won't back off until they get what they want; the apocalypse. And when they tried to hurt Sam, it's Dean's turn to discover he can kill the angels.

They become fugitives from both sides. The angels have no quarter on killing Sam, because it will mean Lucifer doesn't have its true vessel when the fight happens and Micheal winning is secure. The demons, want to kill Dean for the same reason.

It's been a year of battles, and losing those who cared enough to save the Earth and they cared for.

Their enemies are getting bolder and dangerous. Angels and demons never worked together before. What happened in the gas station was unexpected, and Sam will admit they weren't prepared for such attack.

They barely made it alive this time. He doesn't know if the next time will be the last. It seems that no matter how hard they fight back, they get hit back ten times harder. Maybe the angels are right. Maybe they should just let it be. It would be so much easier. If at the end, it will all end up as they say...

“You can't cover the sun with your hands.” Sam murmurs, gazing a the rays of sunshine filtering around his hand as he tried to cover the sun.

Dean's hand find his, entwining his fingers with Sam's. “Why cover it when you can use it to your advantage,” he retorts.

Sam raises his head from where has been resting over Dean's chest. Listening to his heart beat strong while they lie naked on the bed, sharing body heat and healing through their bond after the attack. The old cabin hidden on the forest, allowing them to fade from the radar until they are fit enough to move.

Dean is still a bit pale, but any trace of the poison in his system is gone. Sam doesn't want to go through something like that again. While they have been at the edge of death before, it never felt so strong before. He was dying too. And he has to wonder if the bond will be their undoing at the end. He's hurting Dean with this, and even when going separate ways is not an option, would it be better?

That's why he has doubts.

“How do we use it?”

“We will figure it out.”

“What if we don't on time?” Sam doesn't want to voice it, but Dean can read within the lines.

_What if they win anyways?_

“Then we go down together.” Dean sits up, and pulls Sam by the arms until his kneeling on his lap. “Together, Sammy,” he grabs Sam's jaw, spreading his fingers down his neck and looks him straight on the eyes. “There is no point of sacrifice when one can't leave without the other. We win together or we die together. Got that?”

Sam grabs Dean's wrist, using his touch to anchor himself. Dean's right. They will only make it if they are together. And if at the end all is in vain, nobody can say they didn't fought hard and long. He nods, and lets his forehead rest on Dean's. Breathing in and letting Dean's confidence wash over him.

No matter what happens in the future. They'll face it together.

Always.

 

**The end.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :3


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